


Unexpected Discoveries

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surprises are fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brotherly Visit

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LJ on February 21st, 2005.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

Malte is humming to himself, pushing his cycle into the bike stand next to Christoph's apartment house. Fumbling around with the key lock, he finally manages to lock it to the frame of the stand. Ew. Leaking oil. He wipes his dirty fingers on his dark jeans, but it doesn't amount to much, sadly. Christoph won't take too much notice of it anyway – and if, he'd just berate him for being such a pig. He covers the distance to the entrance door with two long strides and his finger is already hovering on the bell next to the 'Metzelder' tag neatly printed out, when he suddenly decides against it. He still has the extra key from his brother for emergencies and for taking care of the flat when Christoph is abroad.

Surprises are always fun. A smirk plays on his lips.

*

Basti is sprawled all over Metze, head buried into the junction between neck and shoulder, not really sleeping, but more drowsy, as his breath comes at erratic intervals. Metze's right hand rests on Basti's back, fingers drawing little circles on the still slightly sweaty skin. A deep satisfaction reverberates through him; the last small waves of orgasm are lapping on his shore. He nuzzles Basti's hair, smelling his best friend's favorite Adidas shampoo, sweat, and something that he would always recognize as Basti. A slight chuckle. "How do I smell?", Basti asks, and Metze knows that he's smiling.

"You smell like you always do; nothing special about it," he deadpans.

"Nothing special? Now I'm _really_ wounded, you know," Basti says. Raising himself on his elbows, he looks down onto Metze who looks back at him, grinning. "Because here I fucked our brains out and that's all you can say?"

"Hey, I'm a man. What do you expect, roses and pralinés? A diamond collier? What about-" and here he is cut off when Basti decides to stop his diatribe by the most effective approach: kissing him. Metze reciprocates happily, tightening his hold on Basti, sliding a hand up to hold his head firmly in place, their legs tangling. He is slowly getting aroused again, and so is Basti, as proved by their moans that are half-swallowed in the passionate kisses.

*

The key turns slowly in the door, Malte intent on making no noise so he can scare Christoph something bad – the revenge for the incident on his birthday party is due, anyway – and he tiptoes into the hall, closing the door behind him. Mission accomplished. But the grin fades from his face when he sees Christoph's black Nike sweater thrown on the floor, and there's a jeans, and – tight boxers. And other assorted clothes. And the door to Christoph's living/sleeping room is closed.

A loud moan followed up with a deep chuckle – yes, that's Christoph, and Malte's face now feels like he sports a first-class sunburn. His big brother apparently has a chick over and they're having sex, right now, behind this door. Which is proven again by a distinct creaking noise. Only his big brother's bed makes this noise, as he very well knows, having lounged around on it while competing against his brother on the PS2 and bouncing up and down whenever he scored against Christoph – which happened way too often.

Damn. Not really the best time and place for a surprise, he thinks. There are certain things a guy never wants to see, and that is his own brother having sex (second to witnessing the own parents having a go at it).

But the thought of revenge still lurks in his mind and is calling to him with a sweet siren voice.

An idea forms in his mind.

*

Riiiing. Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiing.

Basti looks up from between Metze's legs, where he had been busy for quite some time. Not that Metze's complaining. Not at all. Anything involving Basti's talented mouth and tongue _and_ his dick is utter bliss – but Basti apparently doesn't think so, as he gives Metze a last lick and releases him, frowning. "Are you expecting someone and forgot it?" The unsaid _again_ is audible in his voice.

"No idea," Metze groans. "Damn."

Riiiiiing.

"Whoever it is, he or she seems rather intent on speaking to you," Basti sighs, already getting off him. "I'll hit the shower and you make it short, 'kay?" The voice of reason. But right now it sounds more like the voice of maliciousness if Metze considers the state his aching cock is in.

They haven't had real sex for two weeks as build-up training, 'RoterKeil' and the VdV have used up most of their available free time and, in Basti's case, Dortmund matches. And then the occasional interview appointments and TV gigs, too. He had been so looking forward to this afternoon together after stolen snogs and quick hurried jerk-offs in his car, hidden in dark corners on deserted parking lots or on a lonely forest road, or in dark closets, or just gropes in public that could be passed off as a bit too friendly hugs. Someone up there really has it in for him. He sighs deeply, cursing the universe in a thousand ways. Really creative ones.

Pulling his loose sweatpants over his hips and snatching a t-shirt from the unwashed heap next to his bed, he turns into something just about presentable and hopes that the bagginess of the old pants will cover the still half-hard erection. Willing it to diminish further, he opens the window to air the heady smell of sex out.

"Here!", and something huge hits his head, which he, after the first shock millisecond, identifies as a bundle made up of their clothes that they were ripping off each other when they tumbled into the hallway. "Thanks!", he yells back, but Basti's already gone.

Riiiing.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, shutting the door closed behind him. Carding his fingers through his hair, full knowing that it doesn't matter anyway, he hits the door button and opens the door. And who does he see coming up the stairs?

Malte.

Oh, how he does _love_ his little brother. Who has the goddamned worst timing of all time. And here he thought Kelly had dusted off everything that could be won in that category long ago – he still has to wince mentally when he has to think back on the incident at Basti's parents' hotel, which included a rather dusty broom closet, a confused chamber-maid, a very embarrassed Metze and non-existant contact lenses.

"Hey, big brother! How are things?", Malte cries happily, taking the steps two at a time. "Thought I could drop by, catch up for a bit."

"I'm fine, thanks," he sighs, letting himself being pulled in by his brother for a quick hug. "And since when do you 'drop by', anyway? Usually you call in advance."

Malte shrugs. "Thought it'd be a nice change." _It isn't, little brother._ "Why did you take that long to open the door, anyway?"

"Er… I was busy." Lame excuse, lame excuse.

"Oh, I see. … And who's showering there?" How did his brother turn into the inquisition squad, all rolled into one? Still standing in the doorway, intent on making it just a quick chat, Metze sighs.

"Basti. He came over after training."

And it's almost funny, but somehow it's a bit disconcerting to see his brother's face rearranging itself in an expression that he'd have to call _totally_ shell-shocked. It's even complete with paling, jaw-dropping and eyes widening. "Earth to Malte?" Metze waves his hand in front of his brother's eyes, concerned.

*

… _Basti_? Sebastian Kehl? His brother's _best buddy_? Has he just stepped into an alternate reality or did anyone plant cameras behind the door and someone will jump out of a hiding place and yell 'Gotcha!'?

Apparently not. Shit. And he's not dreaming, 'cause weird shit like this would never ever happen in his dreams. His brother's looking at him now with this worried look that says 'I'm gonna phone Mom in a millisecond if you won't tell me what the fuck's up with you, and no, that's not blackmailing' and he has to cover up his initial reaction pronto. "Uh, sorry, just remembered that I forgot to buy, uh, something important. And Mom'll be mad at me for forgetting it, and uh, you know how she gets, and…"

He immediately knows that Christoph wouldn't fall for the lame-ass shit he just pulled out of his ass and winces inwardly. But wonders do happen – his big brother just nods, saying, "Shops aren't closing yet for some hours, Malte, so there's still time for you to go and buy whatever it is, isn't there?"

Relieved, he nods, "yeah, you're right, I'll go and-" and then it hits him like a ton of brickets: his brother isn't actually believing him, he just wants him to be gone as soon as possible so he can return to whatever he was doing (and here Malte's brain steadfastly refuses to supply him with any appropriate imagery, for which he is eternally thankful) with Basti. "-er, yes, okay, I'll be going," and he's babbling and now Christoph does raise an eyebrow at him, though more amused now than worried.

"Do that, little brother. I'll give Kelly your best regards, okay?"

"Yeah, okay –" and then he hears a "Who's there, Chris?" and despite wanting to run, his feet keep glued to the floor and Christoph's response of "my obnoxious little brother" doesn't even elicit an appropriate reaction from him. Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, Basti appears at Chris' side, clad in only sweatpants and another towel is slung around his shoulders. "Hi Malte, long time no see," he says, grinning and Malte sees his brother smiling down at his best friend, and fuck, how could he _not_ have seen it before? Damn. As far as Christoph's concerned, Basti classifies as edible. Very.

"Er, hullo Basti," Malte stutters, "I was just going, have to buy something, have fun, er, yes," and Basti, still smiling, nods, "You too, Malte. Hey, when are we gonna get together next time for me to kick your arse at FIFA?" – "Dream on, Basti," Malte retorts. He and Sebastian are pretty evenly matched so playing against him is always more challenging. Especially when Christoph decides to tip the scales in Basti's favor and starts pelting Malte with popcorn, or worse, pillows. Slowly but surely regaining his equilibrium again, he continues, grinning, "The day will never come that you'll beat the Grandmaster Malte. Saturday next week?" – "Sure thing, and don't forget to bring your teddy bear to dry your tears, oh grand baby," Basti replies. Christoph rolls his eyes – very eloquently at that.

Malte just snorts. "I'll be better going now, then. Terribly important errand, after all. See you then!" and waving to Christoph and Basti, he turns, hurrying down the steps to the entrance door, hearing their good-byes floating out into the staircase.

*

"He gets weirder with every day, I don't know," Metze says, closing the door, "it must be something in the water."

"Or too much PS2-ing, I bet," Basti says, throwing the used towels at the door of the bathroom, where they leave a wet smudge before slipping down to the floor, before he turns back to Metze. "Now, where were we before?" he asks, slowly advancing onto Metze.

"I think my dick can tell you that. In _detail_," Metze smirks, pulling the hem of his t-shirt over the head and letting it fall to the floor while Basti is already stepping out of his sweatpants and then Metze's sweats are joining them on the floor, too, and they embrace hungrily in the middle of the hallway, mouths clashing, hands roaming over bodies, strokingclutching, feet treading on each other, closercloser, and it feels like a huge magnifying glass is hovering over them, directing a hot ray of sunlight onto them, burning them _up_.

*

Cycling down the main street, basking in the sun and the slight breeze, Malte whistles to himself. It really has been some day. The unexpected discovery that Christoph apparently likes – no, _loves_ \- to do the dirty deed with Basti has rearranged Malte's world view rather abruptly.

But that won't change the fact that Christoph is his big brother – nothing will change that. It just adds more ammo to Malte's versatile means of blackmailing him into not letting slip anything about Malte getting absolutely, totally wasted at the last Borussia party to their parents. A grin is slowly forming on Malte's face at the very lucrative prospect.

The surprise _really_ was worth it, after all.


	2. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers can be a pain in the ass...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First published on LJ on April 4th, 2005.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

Metze is lying on the bed, that close to Basti that the slight midfielder can feel the warm breath fan out over his neck and with it the scent of the heavily spiced chips that Metze's munching, the cracklingcrunching noise pretty much background amongst the clickity-clackity from the buttons on the joysticks.

Basti himself is sitting on the floor, legs crossed, totally engrossed in the soccer game that he and Malte are carrying out on the latter's PS2 on Metze's huge plasma TV screen, one of the few luxuries his best friend has indulged in. He's that close to winning, it's just ten more minutes and the score is 2-1 for him and Malte has no chance in hell getting through his indestructible defense.

"Uh, not that it's actually of any interest, but which one of you is the bottom?"

_Wh- how?_ Basti is shocked; did he just actually hear this coming out of Malte's mouth? A quick look sideways to Metze, who's staring at his little brother, jaw hanging open and providing Basti with a not very nice visual image what munching does to chips. Other than that, if it weren't for the fact that Metze's still breathing, he could double for one of the wax figures at Mme Tussaud's. Shit.

Cheering. The disgustingly fake cheering you only get when you score a goal at FIFA2002. "And I believe that evens the score," Malte grins, turning to face him.

Fuck.

Basti groans. "You asshole." He got set up. Admirably, even.

Malte shrugs, still grinning. "You have to take your chances when you see them – that's my life motto. And besides, I'm cool with whatever you have, guys."

"I know that I'm probably going to regret this, Malte – but how in the hell do you know?", Metze says, sighing. Now that he's saying it, Basti wants to know, too. He doesn't think anyone would've caught up on them – yet, he reminds himself. It's only human to fuck up, but so far they've been rather lucky – and they've been especially careful around family and friends as those are closest to them and would easily recognize a difference in how they behave.

Malte bends over Basti's lap to get a handful of the chips in the bowl on the floor. Shoving them into his mouth, he mumbles, "You do know when I was over last week?" They nod, and Malte continues, "well, I actually was in the flat earlier – as I still had the keys that you gave me, Christoph."

Damn, damn, _damn_. Basti's sure he resembles an overripe tomato now, as he really can't help recalling vividly what he was doing to Metze on this afternoon. And some more. In contrast, Metze's paling. "What – how-", he splutters.

Malte raises his hands, shaking his head. "I didn't see anything, guys – thank God. I just saw the clothes in the hall and heard something, and, well, I drew my own conclusions from that. I thought you had a chick over, Christoph, and got out of here as fast as possible."

"Some chick I am," Basti snorts, still blushing, but he's recovered his senses well enough now to see the funniness of the situation. Malte chuckles. "Well, then I decided that I wasn't going to let you down easy for my birthday party, so…"

"You little shit," Metze groans, "I should bloody murder you."

"No fraternicide around here," Basti says, "as I don't fancy visiting you in jail."

"You could be my alibi, Basti. Please?" and now Metze does his puppy dog act, propped up on his elbows, but unfortunately resembling more a drooping basset hound than a cute cocker spaniel. Basti has to hold in a giggle, but manages to school his face into a serious expression and says, "I'll even help you getting rid of him if you can ensure that we'll get a double cell together in jail."

"Consider it done. I'll even throw in a king-size bed," Metze grins and they high-five.

Malte rolls his eyes and snorts. "Before you start decorating your little cell together, can we return to the game, please?"

And so they do, resuming it where they left off. It now gets fiercer as time is running low, with Malte's strikers wreaking havoc everywhere and Basti holding up his own favorably, but losing the ball too often. Shit. He needs to do something, or he will be totally flattened by Malte. They have a bet running that says whoever loses a game has to do a dare the other one thinks up - and they've gotten frighteningly creative by now. After the embarrassing last dare from which Basti hasn't yet recovered (suffice to say that it still is a hot topic of conversation in the Borussia locker rooms) he really can't afford to take another one on.

Drastic measures are needed.

"You know," he remarks oh-so-casually, "when you rung the bell, I was in the middle of giving your brother the absolutely best blowjob of his life."

Simultaneous gasps from both the Metzelders, instantly followed up by a "Ew - that I _really_ didn't need to know!" from Malte and getting hit by a pillow from Metze.

Shortly afterwards, the announcer's voice states the end score of the game: 3-2 for Basti's team. "And thus I win," Basti croons, in time with the cheering erupting from the TV. Metze laughs. "That _was_ dirty, Basti."

Malte groans, throwing the joystick to the floor. "Asshole. I'm so fucked."

"Just wait until you hear my dare," Basti retorts. "Still staying for dinner?"

Malte nods, getting up from the floor in a smoothjerky move. "Gotta pee, guys, and don't do anything that's X-rated." He isn't out of the room quickly enough to prevent Metze's pillow hitting him rather soundly in the back.

Basti heaves himself up from the floor to the bed, flopping down beside Metze. "So, your little brother knows." It feels strange to him, slowly coming to the realisation that they don't have to cover up any suddenfleeting urges to kiss the other one, that they don't have to run the automatic censor or double-layer their public bantering anymore, that they can be… more themselves.

"Damn. Do I still have the duct-tape around here somewhere? If he blurts out something inappropriate in public, I should better have it handy. And a stapler, to make sure it won't ever come off," Metze sighs. But a little smile plays around the corners of his lips, showing that he isn't really worried on that account. Malte has always been the brother Christoph was – and is – closest to, and vice versa.

Basti grins, turning so that he faces his best friend. "So, king-size bed?"

"Sure thing. I wouldn't murder my brother for anything less," Metze deadpans.

"You're cheap," Basti snorts.

"No. I would only do it if the bed comes with the appropriate company."

"And who would that be? The latest Miss Borus-" and the rest gets swallowed up in one of Metze's hungry kisses, intent on mapping every square millimeter of his mouth and Basti reciprocates readily, wethot clashes, and he burrows his hand under the sweater until he touches hot skin, burning up under his fingertips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He can feel the slight flutter in Metze's abdomen, sliding his hand up to the chest until his searching fingertips encounter the already hard nipple, twisting it slightly in the way that Metze likes.

Metze's embrace tightens and the kiss gets more intense until Basti has to break free for gasps of air. But then Metze's mouth maps the course of Basti's jaw up to his earlobe with wetsloppy kisses, interspersed with little bites that send jitteryhot lightning bolts through Basti's whole body, and every atom of his body is attuned to Metze and he scrunches his eyes shut, seeing fiery wheels in front of his eyes, not daring to open them because then he'd get too overwhelmed by what Metze's doing to him – his tongue tracing the vein under his ear, down to the collarbone and then that hot mouth is suckling on the exact spot where neck meets shoulder. All awhile his fingers are circling the sensitive skin just above the waistband, sometimes slipping underneath it, but just _barely_, teasing him by just dipping into the crack of his ass and Basti groans, pressing himself closer to Metze, his fingers digging into the sweatydamp back, every nerve ending sending thousandfold sensations to his brain and if he were standing, his legs would give out underneath him and –

"Wonder how much cash I'd get from the Kicker if I'd have my digicam here with me…" Malte's slightly amused voice carries through the heavy haze that surrounds them and they jerk up and apart, Basti sliding off Metze who bends over – presumably to cover the rather obvious hard-on that had pressed against Basti's hip just then – and growls, "Ever think of knocking, Malte?"

"Nah," says Malte, grinning, "otherwise I'd have missed _this_ and that would've been too bad, no?" – "What, do you get off watching your brother snog me?", says Basti, raising an eyebrow. "Kinky, Malte."

At watching Malte splutter and fumble for an explanation, he – or better, _they_ can't help themselves, laughing with glee at Metze's very embarrassed brother and every single look that they share has them in stitches again.

Finally, Metze wipes at his eyes, still chuckling and heaves himself off the bed, throwing an arm around his brother. "You're the best, Malte." – "Ha ha," his still blushing brother retorts, "glad to have been of service, Christoph."

Basti leans back and grins. Christoph and Malte are rather alike in looks, both share the same dark brown hair with the slight wave, both are about the same height – Malte's a scant two centimetres taller than his best friend, but it isn't very noticeable – and they have the same wry humor, although Malte's is more tinted with juvenile boisterousness whereas Metze is more deadpan. A night out in town with them is always bound to be enjoyable, something to look forward to on a hard training's day.

They're now looking at him, both smiling. "Care to join us in the kitchen, Basti?", Malte asks. "Or are you regretting your choice of Metzelder and pick the better one?" and gets immediately cuffed by his brother.

Basti laughs and gets up from the bed. "Nah, I already got the best one and I don't intend on letting him out of my sight ever."


End file.
